


Whispers of Evil

by themostawesomehuman



Category: Shadowhunters, TSC, The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The shadowhunter’s chronicles
Genre: Angst, Death, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Other, Parabatai Feels, Revenge, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themostawesomehuman/pseuds/themostawesomehuman
Summary: James was the one who discovered Matthew’s body— his bloody, broken parabatai. Lifeless. Matthew’s emerald eyes were still open, staring off into the unknown—into the darkness of the night. Why were they open?
Relationships: Anna Lightwood & Christopher Lightwood, Matthew Fairchild & James Herondale, Matthew Fairchild/Anna Lightwood, Matthew Fairchild/Thomas Lightwood
Kudos: 17





	Whispers of Evil

James was the one who discovered Matthew’s body— his bloody, broken parabatai. Lifeless. Matthew’s emerald eyes were still open, staring off into the unknown—into the darkness of the night. Why were they open? This was same pair of eyes that gave him comfort when their parents told them off for doing something stupid—the familiar gleam of mischief, the warmth. All gone. James couldn’t feel his limbs. All James knew, as he screamed into the night, screaming in agony until his lungs could only allow him to quietly sob, was that Matthew would no longer mock him about his hair or complain to him about waistcoats. He didn’t care if the world was looking. Matthew was gone and that’s all that really mattered. So damn the world and damn everything else. 

James’ face was wet, his version blurred with tears, his hair messy from all the pulling in an attempt to ease his frustration. His hands were aching from drawing Iratze after Iratze after Iratze—the cramping of his hand was nothing compared to the overwhelming amount of pain in his chest—he found that he couldn’t breath. Come back to me! James screamed silently. His chest was burning and it felt as though he was drowning in an ocean of flames—his chest was on fire! He could feel the parabatia bond slowly fading, the black on his skin turning white. When they'd said that losing your parabatai was the worst pain a Shadowhunter would feel, James had known it would hurt like hell. But it was so much worse.

For hours James sat holding on to Matthew’s lifeless body, refusing to leave his parabatai’s side. His shirt was soaked with blood: from crimson to coppery-brown. Matthew was gone. The morning after when the silent brotherFais made an attempt to move closer to them—James begged and begged them not to take his best friend anyway. He needed more time. They needed more time. James didn’t leave Matthew’s side even for a minute—eating wasn’t necessary. Nor was sleeping or taking baths or talking to anyone else. Everyday he would read Matthew a chapter or two of Matthew’s favorite book: Picture of Dorian Gray, hoping that Matthew would like before get up and went on for hours about Oscar Wilde. He would do anything to hear Matthew’s comforting voice again. James would held Matthew’s hand for as long as he could, whispering words of comfort into his ears, wishing for a time when he could smile back. He would kill for Matthew to smile back.

At Matthew’s funeral, James saw the remaining Fairchild family excepting everyone’s condolences. Charles who looked completely normal like the body on the pyre wasn’t his little brother. James hated Charles then. He hated Charles who was supposed to be Matthew’s older brother. Charles who was never there. Charles who James knew only use this as an opportunity to gain more votes. It made him felt sick to his stomach. Matthew’s father was there in a bath chair and he eyes were full of grief—the amount of grief that could destroy a man. He only nodded at James and gave him a faint smile. Henry Fairchild’s smile was so familiar and James found himself searching for someone in that smile. Next to uncle Henry was aunt Charlotte dressed in all white with the red mourning rune on her left arm. Aunt Charlotte who had collapsed at receiving of the news of her youngest son’s murder—in that moment, she wasn’t the consul or the former head of London institute. She was a women who lost her son. James noticed her eyes—they were bloodshot possibly from long nights of grieving.

James quickly glanced around the sea of people, fiddling with the ring he once gave Matthew when they first became parabatai. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Thomas who was staring blankly into space, leaning into Alastair Carstairs for support. His eyes were icy and there was no trace of his kind smile left. Christopher who was always in his own little world was sobbing uncontrollably into Anna’s suit. For once perfectly in tuned with what was happening around him. Anna’s tidy raven black hair was messy, it was sticking out from every direction. Her face was as hard a stone. It was hard to look, knowing that there was nothing that he could do to take their pain away. In that moment he made promised to himself. He would find the murderer. He would find them and make them pay for this unspeakable crime. For the death of his parabatai, his best friend, his brother. His Math.


End file.
